Finding Equilibrium
by ShadeShifter
Summary: 'One Art' rewrite. Sergeant Lyman is actually the 5000-year-old Immortal Methos under the control of Stryker's serum.
1. Chapter 1

I don't know what happened. I watched XMFC and got inspired to revamp 'One Art', and then young Charles wanted to be in it, and then he was flirting, and I think this might end up being Methos/Charles... IDEK.

Also, everything I know about genetics I learned from Wikipedia.

**About fifty years ago**

Charles didn't notice it at first. He blamed the presence, like a static whine at the back of his mind, on the mass of students, on his anxiety at presenting his first lecture series, but it didn't decrease, not even when he found his stride and many of the students, as is the nature of students attending early morning lectures, stopped attending. Eventually, he pinpointed it to a man who always sat in the back row. The man listened intently, and seemed to follow easily, but he never asked questions and he never stuck around long enough for Charles to track him down.

Even when Charles brushed cautiously against his mind, the static remained. It prickled like pins and needles against his consciousness until he lost his train of thought. The man didn't seem to notice the intrusion and Charles decided that his mental defences must be instinctive and resilient. Charles contemplated, only theoretically of course, what it would take to bring them down.

It's only on the last day of his lecture series that the man approaches him. Charles can't tell how old he is; he might be a few years older than Charles, but there's also a sense of timelessness to his appearance.

"Doctor Xavier," he greets, and his voice is smooth and accented in a way Charles can't quite place.

"I'm John White." A non-descript name and Charles sensed truth, but with a curious mixture of something else, too. Not quite deception, but something close. He's a mystery and Charles loves mysteries.

"Just Charles, please."

"Charles, then," John conceded with a brief smile. "I'm curious as to whether you believe the mutations you speak of have already manifested."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Charles hedged. John seemed keenly interested, more so than just a passing curiosity, and Charles wished he could read his mind to see if he had a mutation of his own. "Mutations are occurring all the time. Even your hazel eyes are a mutation of the OCA2 gene. And it's a very groovy mutation."

"Is that so?" John asked as he leaned forward with a faint smirk. Charles smiled as he looked up at him.

"You also have a very groovy HMGA2 gene."

...

The next time Charles senses that intriguing mind, it's over 40 years later. Charles has been kidnapped and John is standing at Stryker's shoulder, gaze blank.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles was tired and hurting, in more ways than he cared to think about. There was worry, adrenaline and fear, so very much fear, from Storm on his right, and concern, but also intense curiosity and wonder, from the man on his left. Kurt, if he remembered. The mutant that had been forced into attempting to assassinate the president. It overwhelmed his own feelings and, for once, he didn't care.

It took a second for him to recognise the remnants of Stryker's soldiers, destroyed by some kind of explosion, but one was different. The wounds were knitting together on one of the corpses and Charles's grip on Ororo tightened, forcing her to a halt.

"We need to bring him," he said, as the face began to reform. The shape of those cheekbones and that prominent nose was distinctive.

"Professor," Storm started, but Charles shook his head. He didn't know the circumstances, but he needed time to find out, and they weren't going to get it here. Scott frowned but passed Jean off to one of the older children. He bent down to and hauled the man into a fireman's carry. Charles nodded at him gratefully and they moved forward through the tunnels once again.

...

Once back at the mansion, Charles left it to Ororo to handle the children while he and Logan handled their patient. Logan grabbed the man and slung him roughly over his shoulder. Charles winced a little, but let it go. 'John', as he'd called himself when he'd introduced himself to Charles all those years ago, clearly had a healing factor and reprimanding Logan at this stage would do no good.

The ride to the infirmary, situated in the basement with Cerebro, was made in silence and Charles deliberately ignored the slow drips of blood that littered the floor beneath John's body. The wounds weren't gaping anymore, more proof that he'd done the right thing in rescuing the man – reviving when trapped in a flooded, underground base was not something he'd wish on anyone – but the injuries were still knitting together and looked like they would be for quite some time.

Logan dropped John onto one of the beds and left his limbs in the tangled the landed in until Charles frowned him into capitulation and Logan re-arranged them into something approximating comfort. Charles decided that that was the best he was going to get.

"I'll contact Hank and see if he's available," Charles said. It pained him to even think of replacing Jean, especially so soon, but they couldn't do without a doctor for very long. Not with so many unpredictable abilities combined with emotional teenagers. Logan nodded even as a growl rumbled low in his throat. Charles doubted the man was even fully aware of it.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Logan said with a jerk of his head in John's direction.

"I'll be back as soon as everything is settled."

...

Methos opened his eyes, immediately awake and taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. Almost immediately, he catalogued the details – medical instruments, sanitised white and stainless steel decor, a screen for x-rays, lack of windows – and decided on underground medical facility. He still felt the phantom ache of extensive healing, but he did not think the instruments had been used on him. The last thing he remembered was standing outside the Cerebro built beneath Alkali Lake.

His hands shot to his neck and he probed the back of his neck. He could still feel the device there, hard metal beneath soft flesh, providing Stryker's serum direct access to his system.

"Nice trick," a rough voice drawled. Methos spun, lunging for one of the scalpels on the tray, before turning to face the man. Wolverine, Methos recalled, Stryker had alternately waxed poetical and ranted about him. Blades slid from between Wolverine's knuckles and he smirked.

"Kidnapping is illegal, you know," Methos told him.

"You'd know."

Methos was in a strange place, though he now assumed it to be Xavier's school, surrounded by strangers, even if he did know their bios. He was vulnerable, had been vulnerable and helpless and weak for far too long, so he drew his most comfortable personas around him, like a blanket. Or a tourniquet. He shrugged Adam Pierson's shrug.

"I like to be good at what I do," he said with Dr Adams' practiced nonchalance. After all, he'd had thousands of years to perfect such things. After that length of time, you would be exceptionally good at anything you'd put your mind to.

With Death's ruthless efficiency, he raised the scalpel to his own neck, just over the device, and sliced deeply. Warm blood gushed over his fingers as they pried the device from where it was implanted. He stared at the small piece of metal for a long moment before he dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot.

"Hey bub, you okay?" Wolverine asked, stepping forward. Methos noticed distantly that his claws were now retracted and the man even seemed to look concerned. Or at least, not overtly hostile anymore.

"Much better," he said, though even his own voice sounded distant to him. Perhaps he should have waited until he'd properly recovered before removing the device but, even as the world darkened at the edges of his vision, he couldn't really bring himself to feel sorry.

"Hey," Wolverine called as Methos felt his knees go weak. He crashed to the floor, unconscious.

...

"Welcome back," Charles said, watching the man he'd known as John blink his eyes open for the second time that day. At least this time he was only regaining consciousness, not reviving from the dead. The other man groaned and levered himself up into a sitting position.

"I could do without the death metal group rocking out in my skull," he muttered, rubbing at his temples.

"Hank should be able to give you something for that."

"I'll be fine," he said, then reached up to touch the bandages at his neck. Hank had put them in place when he'd realised that the neck wound didn't seem to be healing as quickly as the rest of him had.

"So, John... do you still go by that name?"

"Adam will do."

"Of course," Charles agreed. He wondered how many identities this man had, how many times he'd had to change them. "There are matters we must discuss, Adam, and I'm afraid they can't wait."

Adam nodded, indicating that Charles should get on with it.

"We are aware that the mind control serum was used on you," Charles told him. Adam nodded tersely, clearly not at all keen to continue that line of thought. Adam's hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck before dropping listlessly to his lap when he realised what he was doing. "You are not the only one here who has undergone the experience. Indeed, even I fell prey to it. I do not think there will be many who blame you for what occurred."

Adam nodded but otherwise kept his own council. He was sure, though he could not read Adam's mind, that the man did not believe him. He hoped they had the chance to show him otherwise. Adam was as much a victim in this as any of them.

"What did you know of the project?"

"Only that Stryker intended to use the device beneath this school, Cerebro, to kill all mutants," Adam replied, "and he intended to use you to do so."

Adam's passive expression became distant and, not for the first time, Charles wished he could read his mind, but it was still the impenetrable static it had always been. Charles didn't know how much of what Adam revealed was the truth or not, couldn't use his usual methods to discover the truth, but he knew from Logan's description and the camera footage that at least Adam's initial reaction, the horror of it, had been real. If only because there had been no time to plan for it.

"Were there others that you knew of involved in the project?"

Adam shook his head then shrugged.

"There are always others," Adam said. "Lunatics and fanatics tend to accumulate like-minded comrades."

Charles withheld a sigh. The man before him was frustratingly reticent and Charles was unable to flesh out his verbal answers with the mental associations people were prone to make.

"Is there anything you can tell me about Alkali Lake?" Charles persisted.

"I wasn't very high in the pecking order," Adam said, a little more bitterly, before even that emotion was wiped from his expression. Adam was clearly a man used to being in control of himself. That control had been violated and he was now struggling to reassert whatever control he could.

"Of course," Charles said, letting his compassion win out. "I should let you get some rest, though Hank might want to have a look at you first."

...

Methos watched as Xavier wheeled from the room. He remembered the naive professor who'd begun his career arguing for the existence of mutations the rest of the world wasn't ready to believe. This man now was so very different. Older, wearier... warier.

They were all older. For all that 50 years was barely any time at all to him, Methos had felt the weight of his years keenly of recent. The thought of that place, with the degradations he'd had to endure, was just another weight he had to bear.

"Good evening, Sergeant Lyman," a large, blue, furry man in a white lab coat said as he entered the room.

"Adam is fine," Methos said immediately. He didn't think he'd ever hear that name again without a thrill of anxiety shivering down his spine. Piercing eyes appraised him for a moment before the doctor smiled, mouth full of sharp teeth.

"I'm Dr Henry McCoy," he said, reaching out with his clawed hand, "Hank."

Methos shook his hand, even as he wondered if there was some trick in this. He'd kidnapped their children and participated in events that had led directly to injury to their own team, yet they seemed to be trying to make him feel comfortable. Perhaps they were trying to coax information out of him and it would only be a matter of time before they resorted to harsher methods.

"I'd like to take a look at your wound," Hank told him, "see how it's healing."

Methos flinched violently when Hank reached for his neck and struck out at him instinctively. As embarrassed as Methos was at this lack of control, emotional or physical, he couldn't help but feel relieved when Hank stepped back, giving him space. Not that Methos had actually hurt him; the doctor was solid muscle from what he could tell.

"It's fine," Methos said, removing the bandage himself. He ran fingers over the faint scar. The blade had been sharp and the cut clean, if a little deeper than necessary, so it had healed well even if it would never entirely fade. He refused to meet Hank's too sympathetic eyes.

"The professor mentioned that you were experiencing a severe headache. Is this normal?"

Considering everything that had happened, and Methos shied away from thinking too deeply about what that encompassed, he was probably doing better than expected. Certainly better than he'd anticipated less than a week ago.

"Normal enough," he hedged. "I'd really just like to get out of here."

Hank frowned and Methos wondered if he was just as captive here as he had been at Alkali Lake.

"I really wouldn't advise that. I'd prefer to monitor you for at least another day or two, to make sure there are no further side-effects from your experience."

Methos tensed, anxious at the thought of spending an indeterminate amount of time trapped in this stark, underground room. It wasn't until Hank rested a hand lightly on his arm that Methos realised his breathing had become quick and shallow.

"Ororo should be setting up a room upstairs for you. The fresh air and sunlight will do you some good," Hank assured him.

Methos pulled himself together and nodded. He could catalogue the effects of trauma, of having his control and freewill systematically stripped away, but awareness didn't change his reactions, didn't make it any easier to put behind him. There were times when his Immortality, and the crystal clear photographic memory it gave him, seemed more curse than blessing.

He needed to get out of here, go to ground and nurse his wounds. But he also needed to make sure he wouldn't fall to the first untrained child that tried to take his head, either.

"Sounds good."

Methos followed Hank through the corridors, ignoring the way the other man cast sidelong glances at him. Or the way that, once they'd reached the ground floor and encountered the students and staff, others looked at him. Despite being surrounded on all sides by members of the X-men and their students, Methos wasn't overly worried. They were the good guys, morally obligated to do the right thing, and wouldn't harm the bad guy unless absolutely necessary. Half of them didn't even think he was a bad guy. Well, except for Logan that is, but Methos was fairly sure the others would keep him in check, for the most part.

Besides, they thought he could answer their questions, could tell them how far Stryker's influence spread. Methos may have been Styker's right hand man, but that was because it was always good to have an Immortal soldier to jump in front of any stray bullets, not because Stryker trusted him with his plans. His personal assistant, Yuriko Oyama, had been much the same for when Methos hadn't been around. He shivered a little and folded his arms across his chest.

"I believe that this is where you will be staying," Hank told him as he opened one of the many doors lining the corridor. Methos nodded and slipped inside. He murmured a quick goodbye before shutting the door behind him.

...

Methos restlessly paced the hallways of Xavier's school. He had never been one to sleep well and was not immune to the effects of nightmares. What he had gone through, even while not under the influence of the serum, was etched into his mind. In years it would fade as it always did, but for the time being it was still clear. Flashes of people and places, some clearer than others, plagued his mind. The memory of pain still lingered in his tense muscles. He wondered, momentarily, just how many sleeping pills it would take to knock him out without killing him. Reviving from an overdose was not the most pleasant experience. He wiped a hand down his face wearily and sighed.

Methos felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as someone watched him. He turned to see a blue-skinned man who seemed vaguely familiar watching him curiously, perhaps even a little cautiously, from down the corridor. Methos stared at him until he advanced slowly forward. Methos didn't have the patience for this now.

"I remember you from Alkali Lake," the man told him. Methos thought he remembered him being called Nightcrawler.

"I can't say I remember you," he replied with feigned indifference. The man nodded, as if he had expected nothing else.

"Kurt Wagner... Nightcrawler."

Methos gave a curt nod and continued his way down the corridor. Kurt hesitated only a moment before he moved to keep pace. They were silent were a long while.

"Would you like something to drink?" Kurt asked. Methos gave him a half smile, wondering where the apparent non-sequitor had come from.

"I don't suppose there's beer?" he asked. He hadn't had any at Alkali Lake and his Immortal metabolism meant he needed more calories than he'd been getting. Beer was simply Methos' favoured method. Kurt shook his head. Methos shrugged and followed Kurt to the kitchen anyway.

After several minutes they were sitting in silence at the table in the kitchen, sipping tea. Methos wondered briefly if MacLeod would keel over if he ever saw Methos drinking anything but beer, before his mind shied away from the thought.

"I scarred myself for every sin I committed," Kurt said suddenly, softly. Methos shook his head.

"I would not have enough skin," he replied. Kurt looked at him appraisingly and Methos met his gaze frankly. Kurt didn't look away.

"Your healing keeps you from aging, like Logan?" Kurt asked curiously. Methos frowned.

"I suppose a comparison could be made," he conceded. Logan may have a healing factor, but Methos new that it was not the same as a Quickening, which meant Logan didn't participate in the Game.

Methos finished his tea and stared into his cup for a moment, before standing up and putting the cup in the sink. He knew what it was that Kurt ultimately wanted to bring up and he didn't want to talk about it.

"I think I might try to get some more sleep," Methos said, though he had no intention of doing so. He figured that now might be a good time to update his journals. They were a few years out of date as it was. Kurt nodded, empathy etched into his strange features. Methos turned away.

...

Rogue watched Lyman as he crossed the mansion's extensive grounds with loathing in her heart. They said he'd been under the influence of the serum same as the professor and Scott, but what proof did they have? There was only his word and she didn't trust that at all.

Some of the other students watched him with wary eyes, but many were equally content to ignore him. What if he turned on them? What if this was all another elaborate ploy? They'd already lost Jean and Rogue couldn't stand it if they lost anyone else. Lyman seemed to ignore the stares focused on him. There was no hesitancy in his step, no caution at being surrounded by those that wanted him gone. Not a shred of remorse for what he had done.

She moved forwards, following him as he made his way further and further away from everyone else. Slowly, she approached him, thinking she had the advantage, when he turned to look at her. His eyes were cold and distant and she shivered, wondering how they could let him remain amongst them. He had no place with them.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Even his tone was indifferent. He sounded like Magneto when he was sentencing her to death.

"Yes," she said, pulling off a glove, "I think you can."

He stepped back as she stepped forward, his gaze wary, but she lunged forward and pressed her hand to his cheek. His eyes widened briefly as dark lines snaked out from where her hand rested before his eyes shut and a pained moan was wrenched from his lips.

Quickly, before he could pull away from her grasp, she focused on his memories of Lyman and brought them to the fore. He pulled weakly at her hand, but she tangled her other hand tightly into his shirt. She had expected triumph, disgust, any number of things associated with fulfilling Stryker's agenda, but all she found was fear and pain and hate. Abruptly she released him and stepped back, away from him, even if she was unable to remove herself from the memories now in her mind. He dropped to his knees, swaying a little, before he looked up at her, a sneer on his lips.

"Find what you were looking for?" he asked, eyes dark with bitterness and resentment before they closed and he fell to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Methos opened his eyes to the familiar sight of the infirmary. He felt stripped bare and made vulnerable. His hands clenched tightly into fists until his knuckles began to ache and he forced himself to unclench them.

"I must apologise for Marie's actions," Charles said as he wheeled into the room. Methos remained silent. The girl's actions had been her own; it was not up to Charles to apologise.

"You must understand," Charles continued, "she has experienced much in her short life and has reason for her distrust. She is quite distraught."

"I must understand nothing!" Methos snarled. He stopped and clenched his teeth to prevent another outburst. It took a moment before he was able to regain control of his temper. He was never this out of control.

"Of course not," Charles said with a conciliatory smile. It grated against Methos' already frayed nerves. He had to leave, he had to get out of this place and hole up somewhere he could lick his wounds in peace.

"Charles," Hank said, taking in the scene as he entered the room, "perhaps you could give me a moment with my patient."

"Of course," Charles conceded. With a nod to each of the men, he wheeled back out of the room. Hank shut the door firmly behind him. He turned to give Methos an evaluating look.

"Charles is a telepath, as I'm sure you're aware. Unfortunately, that means he completely lacks any real understanding of the concept of privacy." Methos simply watched Hank, waiting for the point he was trying to make. "He doesn't understand the extent to which what Marie did is a violation."

Methos continued to remain silent, worried that if he gave voice to the storm of emotions writhing beneath his skin that he would be unable to stop. Hank seemed to understand. It wasn't even that Methos didn't understand the tactical advantage of knowing a potential enemy's thoughts, it was just that a larger part of him railed at yet another intrusion into his psyche. Another indignity he had to endure.

"Sometimes trashing a lab helps," Hank suggested with a toothy smile. Methos was sure there was a story behind that. He pulled Adam Pierson around him and smiled wanly.

"A beer sounds better."

"I can't do anything about that, but I do have some particularly fine scotch."

Dr Adams smirked.

"I could get behind that idea."

...

Methos had avoided everyone once he'd left Hank's lab and returned to his room. He didn't want to deal with any of them, didn't want to think about anything that had happened. Once hidden away in his room, he pulled out his phone and stared at it for a long moment before he dialled a well remembered number. He had the briefest moment of worry when he wasn't sure if the number had changed or not in the intervening years before it began to ring and then he was more worried with what kind of reception he would receive.

"Dawson," the voice on the other end of the line answered.

"Joe."

"Methos, is that you?"

"Yeah." He had no idea what to say beyond that, how to express everything that had happened in such a short time. It must have seemed so very long to Joe.

"Where the hell have you been! First MacLeod wanders off in Paris, with no word on where he's going, and then you just disappear. At least he said goodbye!"

"Joe," Methos said again, voice cracking. Joe's rant immediately silenced.

"Are you alright, old man?"

"Everything's fine now. I'm fine." It didn't sound very convincing to his own ear.

"It's fine now? So it wasn't before?" Joe asked, voice urgent. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, you know me," he said, "here and there."

"Methos – "

"I thought I'd check in, see how you're doing." He'd wanted to hear Joe's voice. He'd wanted just one thing in his world to right, to be as it was before.

"I'm doing well," Joe assured him, voice gruff but gentle. "Amy showed up a while back, she's been helping me out."

"That's good, Joe," Methos said softly, finally feeling like things might actually be okay, that there was a world beyond his fear and pain.

"You gonna let me know where you are?"

Methos wanted to tell him, wanted to run until he couldn't run any further, but he wasn't strong enough yet to fend for himself and anything else would only put Joe in danger.

"Not yet, Joe. I..."

"Don't sweat it, old man. Your bar tab will be waiting for you when you're ready."

Methos smiled. He'd missed Joe.

"Aw, come on Joe, you know I'm good for it."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

Methos laughed.

...

Methos opened his door to see Kurt, holding a plate of food. He raised his eyebrows, but Kurt just smiled irrepressibly. With a sigh, Methos opened his door further and gestured the man in.

"You weren't at dinner."

"I was distracted," Methos told him, which had the benefit of being true.

Kurt handed the plate to him and then settled on the corner of the bed. Methos smiled a little, bemused at Kurt having invited himself in. Kurt stared at him with large eyes until he sat down and began to eat.

"I know what happened," Kurt began slowly, considering his words as he spoke. Kurt didn't weigh in on how he felt about it, just let Methos know that he could speak freely if he desired.

"I imagine there's very little that's kept secret here."

It was the nature of small communities for everyone to know everyone else's business. Kurt shrugged.

"Will you stay?" Kurt asked. He cocked his head to one side as he looked at Methos. Methos thought about Marie and the suspicions the others had, about Hank. He thought about Joe and the fact that he had no idea who else was involved, that he wasn't anywhere near fighting fit enough to take on an Immortal. He looked down at the plate in his hands.

"I have nowhere else to go."

"It is not so bad," Kurt said, looking earnestly at him.

Methos didn't have a reply to that.

...

Methos stood on the terrace, looking out over the grounds. He liked cities, liked the conveniences of the modern era, but sometimes it was nice to take a step back, find somewhere quiet for a while. Despite the rather rowdy students, the property around the mansion managed to make him feel like there were very few other people in the world.

Of course, the property's isolation was the very thing that it so easy to infiltrate. He wondered if they would accept any of his suggestions about the security system protecting the property. Despite what some of them thought, and he could still feel the hostile and suspicious glares aimed at him, he wasn't interested in harming children. Children were, after all, rather precious to most Immortals. Even the Horsemen avoided taking children as slaves, for the most part. Caspian had been a law unto himself.

Methos shook his head, hoping to dispel the memories. The last thing he needed right now was to add the Horsemen to his repertoire of nightmares and dwelling on the past was a dangerous and useless thing to do. He needed to do something, work out his stress in a better manner than pacing the hallways at night and avoiding everyone. The last time he'd done his katas, or any kind of training, was before Stryker. He assumed, since most of the members of the X-men were trained in combat that they had some kind of facility in which to do so.

He walked back through the doors and went in search of Scott, who, being team leader, was the most likely to be able to help him. He found Scott walking down a passage on his way to eat lunch. Scott looked at him with a cold glare and Methos' eyes narrowed. It wasn't the usual glare he'd been receiving because of his involvement with Stryker, though they had been lessening with the longer he spent at the mansion. He'd been unassuming enough that to most of the inhabitants he simply faded into the background now, but Scott's glare was almost... personal.

"I was wondering if there was a gym or somewhere I could get some exercise," Methos asked as he scanned Scott's expression, trying to judge his intentions. Scott smiled, but it wasn't a smile that put Methos at ease. He wondered if, perhaps, it would be a good time to make a strategic retreat, but he really was going stir crazy and the only other option was to go hide in his room again. Besides, running away would only give Scott more time to plot whatever revenge he intended.

"There is a room that the team uses for training," Scott told him.

"Very well," Methos said, already steeling himself at the glint in Scott's eyes.

Scott spun around and led Methos at a fast pace down the hall. Methos followed, his long legs easily keeping stride. They stopped outside a plain door that Scott opened with key code and gestured for Methos to enter. Clearly not a room available to everyone then. Which meant it was either a privilege or extremely dangerous. Methos was betting on the latter. He hesitated only a moment before entering the large, empty room.

Methos looked around in confusion, wondering just what this place was supposed to be. The walls rippled to be replaced by a rather rundown city block. He wondered if this was some sort of holographic training. He moved over to one of the walls and pressed his hand against it and actually felt the coarseness of the bricks. He hadn't come across technology like this before.

He stumbled backwards, pain flaring in his shoulder, a moment before he registered the sound of a gunshot. He grunted in pain as he rolled out of the way behind a wall, wondering just what the hell was going on. Holograms weren't supposed to hurt. He winced as the bone snapped back into place and, with a faint sucking sound, the bullet fell from his flesh and landed with a ping on the ground. He moved his shoulder to ease the pain slightly.

He heard more gunfire and ducked a little as debris was kicked up around him. What exactly was Scott trying to do? It wasn't like bullets could kill. Then again, he didn't exactly relish the pain they caused. It was his own fault since he'd walked right into this. He grinned wickedly. He wanted a way to relieve stress and here it was. Being unarmed was only a minor hindrance.

Drawing all the pain and anger he'd been feeling and unable to do anything about into a tight knot of determination, Methos listened to the gunfire, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. He carefully timed the moment before he leapt over the wall he'd been hiding behind and sprinted the distance to another wall, closer to the source. He moved quickly and quietly, employing skills he hadn't used in years, until he could clearly see the figure of a man crouched behind a rundown car.

He smiled, sharp and cold, as he shifted his position. He leapt over the hood of the car and charged at the man. It felt like riding out of the dawn sun; anticipation, triumph and legend all rolled into one. The man shot him twice before Methos reached him, but Methos barely felt it. He struck out at the man, knocking the gun from his hands and grabbed the man's head, twisting sharply. The man faded before he reached the ground.

Several more gun men appeared, hemming Methos in and he was just getting ready to die painfully when everything faded to the grey room he'd walked into. The door opened and Xavier wheeled in, followed by an angry looking Scott and an almost amused Ororo. Methos coughed a bit, wincing at the pain that lanced through his chest. He wiped the blood on his already tattered and bloody clothing.

"I hate chest shots," he said without much inflection. "They hurt like a bitch." He paused and cocked his head to one side. "Not nearly as bad as head shots though. Those linger."

"I'm afraid Scott set the training program too high," Xavier explained. He seemed to do that a lot; make excuses for his students.

"I'll be right as rain after a hot bath," Methos replied. It was the first time in longer than he cared to remember that he'd actually been able to forget about everything, to get out of his head. He stretched, popping bones back into place. "It's quite fascinating really. Would it be possible to get a look at the hardware? I've never seen anything like it."

...

While Methos had slept a little longer than he usually did, he had still woken at an ungodly hour. He had foregone even trying to sleep and was now sitting in front of the television mindlessly watching something that may or may not have been a soapie. He sipped at his bottle of coke and grimaced. He really needed to buy some beer.

Tonight it was Logan who was not so discreetly shadowing him. Methos sighed. That wasn't really fair. There were really only one or two that shadowed his movements, keeping an eye on him, the rest were quite happy to leave him alone or, like Kurt, attempted to draw him into conversation. Logan sat in one of the other chairs, blatantly staring at him as though trying to work out just who he was.

As much as these people frustrated him, Methos knew that if he wanted to survive the human race evolving – and it would, no matter what extremists tried to do – he would need to show himself as an ally, would need to ingratiate himself with a powerful group willing to fight for and protect him. He and other Immortals may have the ability to heal almost immediately, but that wasn't much against someone like Logan, whose skeleton was enhanced and who carried six blades around with him. It also wouldn't help with mutants like Scott or Bobby, who could easily incapacitate Immortals.

His musings were interrupted when someone entered his peripheral vision and hovered there. He looked up to see Marie, Rogue, whatever she called herself. She looked pale. He couldn't quite bring himself to care. Had she managed to absorb his Quickening he would either be dead or mortal, which was as good as. Not only that, but she had gone through his memories without his permission. It was an abuse of her power he could have respected if she had directed it at someone else.

While he was almost positive that she had only seen his time as Lyman, he couldn't be entirely sure. Should the information about him being Methos get out then his life would be forfeit. He had only survived so long because he was good at hiding and immersing himself in someone else's identity. After all, who would suspect the oldest Immortal of being a rather slovenly scholar who drank copious amounts of beer?

"I have nightmares," she told him. He shrugged indifferently and stood, turning away from her, though he was still intensely aware of her and stiffened when she stepped forward. She stepped back again. He'd been acutely aware of everything since he had arrived. Hypervigilance.

"They'll fade," he replied tersely. It was her own fault she was having nightmares.

"It feels so real, like I'm really there when..." she trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself. His eyes, when they met hers, were pitiless.

"They will fade, they always do," he told her. He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling a phantom sting. Eventually, he knew, the sensation would fade, as would his own nightmares. He'd had enough experience with nightmares to know. She looked down at the floor and mumbled something Methos didn't catch. "What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she said a bit louder. "I mean for what I did. I didn't think... I don't know what I thought, but I needed to know." He stared at her intently waiting to hear what else she had to say. "I haven't told anyone anything. I won't."

He nodded, somewhat relieved that his private traumas wouldn't be the fodder for gossip, but still a little annoyed that she was still attempting to justify what she had done. She turned to leave then hesitated, whether to say something further or to expecting him to say something, he wasn't sure, before she left the room.

Logan growled from behind him and Methos slowly turned to face him, refusing to show any possibility of feeling threatened.

"She's having nightmares because of the things you did, Sparky," Logan growled, shoving Methos up against the wall. He met Logan's eyes steadily. The man hadn't released his blades yet, so Methos figured the situation was far from dire.

"You're wrong on two fronts," he said, keeping his tone just short of mocking. "She's having nightmares because she forced herself into my head, never an entirely healthy place to be, but more so of recent. And it's most likely the things done to me. Stryker's men shared his ideology. They really didn't appreciate having to follow the orders of a freak." Logan released him and Methos took a moment to collect himself under the guise of straightening his clothing. "There's nothing anyone can do for her. They'll fade with time and not before."

Logan looked at him with as though he was particularly tricky prey before nodding once. Whatever anger had been consuming the other man seemed to fade and he clapped Methos on the shoulder.

"Come on Sparky, I've got some beer tucked away."

Methos watched him with equal intensity for a moment before deciding that it would be better to have another ally among these people. He smiled.

"You have my eternal loyalty."

...

Methos sat in front of the computer that was housed in the mansion's basement. It had more processing capacity than any other system he'd seen. He could definitely get used to this. He typed rapidly, eyes not leaving the screen as he frowned in concentration.

He'd phoned Joe again to let him know that he was still fine and still not willing to reveal anything more about what had happened to him. Joe had been sympathetic for all of two minutes before he'd decided Methos needed a kick in the pants. Methos smiled fondly. It was nice to be reminded that there were people who worried about him.

At the moment, he was looking for any evidence as to just who Stryker could have been partnered with. It seemed incredibly unlikely that such a far reaching project didn't have others involved to ensure its success or to provide an alternate option should it fail.

Methos had started with newspaper articles and sites about the most avid anti-mutant activists. He'd come up with very little in that area except for a lingering disgust in humanity. He'd then moved on to prominent politicians who opposed mutants and were proponents of mutant registration. The most obvious link had been a Senator Kelley, Methos vaguely remembered hearing something about a year or so ago involving Senator Kelley. He'd have to ask Xavier if Kelley was a possibility.

Methos had then started to investigate Stryker directly and any links he had with several possible politicians or army generals. There were several links from Stryker's past, some even as far back as when he was a recruit. The more that Methos found out the more daunting the task became.

Methos sensed someone walking up behind him, he glanced at the reflection in the monitor before dismissing Ororo as not being an imminent threat and turned back to the by turns engrossing and horrifying research into the extent of anti-mutant support, and not all of it blatant. It had never fully occurred to him just how bad it actually was because it was easy to blend in as a human when you didn't have blue skin or shoot lasers out of your eyes. His DNA was the same as any other human's as well, because it wasn't genetics that made him Immortal, it was his Quickening.

He had gone to great lengths to find out about mutants and just what gave them the classification of mutant, but he had only touched on the political conflict because it, like all others wars he had lived through, was fleeting. Eventually mutants would outnumber humans and that would be it. If anything, his time with Stryker had shown him that that wasn't the case at all.

"Have you found much of use?" Ororo asked him. Methos shook his head, his eyes still not leaving the screen as his fingers danced over the keys.

"Not to the investigation, no," he responded. Her eyes quickly scanned the text on screen and she shook her head sadly.

"A bit different on the other side of the conflict, is it not," she commented. Methos nodded without saying anything, there was nothing really to say to that.

"Could Senator Kelley be involved?" Methos asked after a silence broken only by the tapping of keys. Ororo's mouth twisted into a wry smile.

"No, the war is not his anymore," she said. Then, at his confusion, added, "He was subjected to an experimental machine and his body lost molecular cohesion. His position was taken over by Mystique, a shape-shifter."

Methos raised his eyebrows at the explanation and wondered what convoluted story was behind it.

"There's an army buddy of his from way back who also made general, he seems the most likely bet. They were known to share the same ideas about mutants," Methos told her. "General Blake Ballard has been known to champion the cause of mutant registration as well as holding the that mutants deemed dangerous to humanity should be exterminated." Ororo nodded.

"We know of him," she said, her expression hard. "I will inform the Professor of your discoveries immediately."

Methos turned back to the computer to continue his search on mutant politics.


	4. Chapter 4

Methos leaned against the stone balustrade of the terrace, ignoring the occasional student as they wandered by, talking quietly to each other. He hadn't turned the outside lights on, and slowly the light inside the mansion were being turned off. A cold wind was blowing, pulling at his coat, but Methos barely noticed. He stared at the stars, as he had done at various times throughout history, trying to find some meaning in them.

"As immutable as the stars," he muttered, wiping a hand down his face. In his experience, the stars had been as immutable as all the civilisations he had lived through. When he was young he remembered the stars being different, there had been stars that now were gone and stars that had not been there now were. It made him feel so very tired.

Where younger Immortals were able to look at the stars for reassurance that some things stayed the same, he no longer had that luxury. Some days he didn't know how he stayed sane, some days he wondered if he still was, if he'd ever been.

He shook himself from his morbid thoughts as someone came to stand beside him. He turned to look at Scott.

"You're worrying the students."

Methos rolled his eyes and translated that to mean that the students were wondering when he was going to leave so they could have the terrace back to themselves. It was a fairly romantic spot at night.

"I'm sure they were," he offered blandly. Scott looked vaguely annoyed and Methos wondered if he could ramp it up to furious.

"Perhaps you could continue your... contemplations," Methos was sure there was something far less diplomatic Scott wanted to say there, "elsewhere. I'm sure there are plenty of others who would appreciate your company."

"But I'm enjoying the night air," Methos said, smirking when Scott shivered. He'd seen far too little of the open sky over the last few years. "I've got a few suggestions for the security system," Methos said, growing serious. Scott narrowed his eyes.

"I've already made improvements," Scott said, but Methos had still been able to spot some of the weaknesses he had exploited when Stryker had broken in. The only consolation Methos had was that no one else alive knew about them, at least not from him.

Methos turned back when Scott walked away and lifted his face to the sky, enjoying the sting of the cold wind on his face until his ears burned. He was about to turn in a few minutes later when Scott returned.

"Adam," Scott said, expression contrite. "Can we talk?"

Methos' eyes narrowed at the other man, wondering just what his game was. After a pause, Methos nodded. He slid his hands into his coat pockets as Scott drew closer, wrapping his hand around the handle of the knife he had appropriated from the kitchen.

"I was just heading for bed," Methos said when Scott didn't say anything immediately.

"Alright," Scott said, "I want to apologise for the way I've been behaving." He sidled a little closer and Methos shifted a little, easing the knife out of his pocket.

"Who are you?" Methos asked, edging to one side, trying to get around Scott who blocked his entrance into the mansion. Scott's face sneered at him before the features began to transform. Methos knew of only one shifter, Mystique. This one, however, appeared to be a man of about 30. Of course, that didn't mean that this was his true appearance.

"Paranoid, aren't you?" the other man said with a sneer. Methos said nothing, but he flexed his hand around the knife handle, getting a good grip. "I was paid rather a lot of money to deliver you."

They both sprung into action at the same time. Methos ducked a punch and raised the knife, slicing at the man's forearm. He man caught the blow on a wrist guard and twisted. Methos grimaced as his wrist was wrenched, but kept a firm grasp on the knife.

At least now he knew for certain that someone knew all about Stryker's plans and wanted Methos for something. Methos shied away from the thought of spending the next few years the same way he had the last.

Methos yelled for help, not caring if anyone would think him a coward for doing so. Survival trumped indignity, every time. The shifter sprang at him, knocking him to the ground and punched him. Methos raised the knife just as the man wrapped his hands around Methos' throat.

"I can cut your throat a lot faster than you could strange me," Methos told him, face expressionless. They were frozen like that for a long moment until a blast of red light knocked the shifter off Methos and into the balustrade. He pulled himself up and looked over to see Scott and Logan in the doorway, followed closely by Ororo and Kurt. Methos slipped the knife back into his pocket while Scott and Logan went to take care of the shifter.

"You really should update your security," Methos told them, looking at Scott specifically, as he rubbed at the fading bruises on his neck. The other man glared at him.

"We are in the process of doing so," Ororo assured him and Methos smirked at Scott. Logan dragged the shifter away and Methos wondered if they were going to question him.

"Are you alright?" Kurt questioned softly.

"I'm fine," Methos assured him. Kurt nodded, but still eyed him worriedly.

"Perhaps someone should stay with you in case something like this happens again," Ororo suggested.

"No," Methos said a little too hurriedly. He really did not want a babysitter following him at all times. On the other, hand he really did not want to be Ballard's lab rat. Especially as he still suspected that there was serum left somewhere. "Fine," he relented with a sigh.

"I'll take first watch," Kurt insisted. Methos frowned. 'First watch' made it sound like he was a prisoner. Ororo nodded.

"We shall discuss the situation with the Professor in the morning," she told them before turning and following Logan.

Methos and Kurt were left standing on the terrace. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if there was a mutant who could turn back time. Five years would be nice. He looked at Kurt and sighed. There was no way he was going to get any sleep anytime soon.

"Coffee?" Kurt offered.

"Why not."

Nothing much changed after that except for Kurt, and occasionally Logan or Hank, stationing themselves outside his door for the rare times he was there. He tried not to think about it and instead worried about who wanted him and why. Methos had taken to focusing on his research during the days and restlessly pacing the halls of the mansion during the nights.

He wondered when his life had become so absolutely crazy. Had it been when he had become Sergeant Lyman or, before that, when he had allowed himself to be sucked into MacLeod's world, or had it been long before that when he had joined the Watchers? His life had been reasonably quiet since he had left the Horsemen. Except for the brief interlude with Byron, and being part of the underground railroad, and intermittently strategically retreating when Kronos got too close for comfort, and the various other wars and challenges he had lived through. Methos snorted. So maybe his life hadn't been that quiet, but at least it used to have a few years of peace now and then. Now he had old enemies coming out of the woodwork, old friends too, demons, dark Quickenings, and mutants. Methos sighed. He must have been cursed with an interesting life at birth.

Methos paced, counting the space of his room in steps. The most important thing now was finding out if Ballard was behind the attack and if not him, then who. He couldn't afford to have an unknown enemy of unspecified capabilities after him. He sighed. This line of thinking was getting him nowhere. All he could do was make contingency plans for the fallout, until he found out more about who was after him, what their capabilities were, and how far their influence stretched. Methos, for the umpteenth time in the last few days, made his way down to the computer, with the intention of hacking into every known and several unknown databases. He was stopped by Charles as he reached the bottom of the main staircase.

"The fight yesterday has the students rather excited," Charles told him. He lacked the unbounded enthusiasm Methos remembered from the first time he'd met him. Methos nodded, it was only to be expected. Charles stared at Methos intently as though trying to look straight through him. Methos, knowing of Charles's talents, tried to keep his mind as blank as possible.

"You were studying to become a doctor the last time we met, were you not?" Charles asked him. Methos nodded, wondering just what Charles was getting at. Charles smiled reassuringly, which did not reassure Methos at all. "With the... disappearance of our previous doctor we have found a need for a new one. Hank was only ever a temporary measure. Methos raised an eyebrow, wondering what Scott would think about him accepting Jean's old position.

"Hank and Ororo have both recommended you for the position," Charles said. "Scott did not disagree."

That wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement. He wondered how much it must have pained Scott to

acknowledge that Jean's position needed to be filled. It was almost like accepting that she was gone forever. Methos didn't know the whole story, he hadn't been alive at the time, but what he had managed to piece together showed that it was likely that she was dead. Finally, he nodded.

"Very well," Methos said, "I'll take the position." They needed a doctor and he could fill the position. It might even endear himself to the others, gain their loyalty.

"Now, about the knife," Charles began. Methos hadn't realistically been hoping that the others hadn't noticed, but he could have done without the complication. It was his only weapon and it had already saved his freedom, if not his life. He raised an eyebrow and Charles sighed but didn't argue.

Methos sat with several of the younger students watching television. The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, to be exact. He knew he would probably regret having watched it in several hundred years when he could still remember it with startling clarity. He had yet to decide whether the extraordinary recall of Immortals was a good thing or not.

He watched as the children all stared with intense concentration at the television. Feeling ancient Methos remembered when he'd already been old and he'd hunted with the other men, telling stories around the fire at night as a way of passing the dark hours while the children played at being adults.

Methos smiled slightly. There were some things that would never change and some things that would never be the same again. He wondered just how much change he would live through, but he knew the answer to that. He would live through as much as occurred until he died, which he didn't plan any time soon.

"Adam," Ororo said, interrupting his thoughts and he looked up. She stood next to a girl of about fourteen who looked pretty scraped up. Her knees and hands were bleeding. Methos stood immediately and walked over to them.

"What's your name?" he asked her. She looked at Ororo for reassurance. Ororo nodded encouragingly. Methos resisted the urge to sigh. Even the ones who didn't resent him didn't exactly trust him.

"Andrea," the girl told him. Methos smiled at her.

"Well, Andrea, why don't we take a look at your cuts." She still looked nervous. "Ororo, if you have a moment to spare, I can give you the book I recommended."

Ororo smiled at him, aware that he had recommended no such thing, but that Andrea looked much happier about going with him. Andrea nodded. The three of them walked to where Jean had kept her office and Andrea climbed onto the bed that stood in the middle of the room. She looked around herself curiously while Methos grabbed some disinfectant and cotton wool. He doubted that the scrapes would need much else and the fresh air would do them more good than wrapping them up would.

"So Andrea, read any good books recently?" he asked her as he poured some disinfectant onto the cotton wool. Andrea glanced at Ororo who stood just inside the door.

"I've just finished Night Circus," she said as Methos dabbed at the scrape on her right knee. She winced but didn't complain.

"It's a good book," Methos said.

"You've read it?" she asked and grinned when he nodded. Methos moved on to cleaning her hands. He noticed as Ororo slipped quietly out of the room, but Andrea didn't seem to as she launched into a discussion of the characters.


	5. Chapter 5

Hank rested a hand on Methos' shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Despite the fact that he knew it wasn't entirely true, Methos felt like he was losing his one true ally in this place. He was certainly losing the one person Methos knew would stand up to Xavier and as much as he hated to admit it, he had begun to rely on having that as a plan B if something went wrong, if they turned on him or decided he was holding back answers that endangered them. They were good guys, he knew, but he'd seen what atrocities good men could convince themselves were right.

"I must return to Washington," Hank told him. "The attack on the president and the situation with Stryker have opened up the issue of mutants to questions we may not yet be ready to face."

"I understand," Dr Adams said, spine straight. Adam Pierson gave Hank a wry smile. "I'll be fine," he insisted. Hank stared at him piercingly for a moment, before he smiled toothily back.

"Of course you will," he said with confidence. "But just in case, I've left information in your room on how to contact me. I will be available if you need me."

Methos nodded. He appreciated it; appreciated that he wouldn't actually be losing an ally, but he said nothing. Kurt hovered just behind him, at his right shoulder, and Hank glanced at the other blue mutant and nodded. Kurt must have nodded back, because Hank gave him a quick smile before he turned to Xavier.

Xavier and Hank stared at each other intently for a long moment in which Xavier frowned deeply before clearing away any expression. Hank glanced back briefly at Methos before glancing away again. Xavier nodded finally and Methos wished he knew what the hell they were talking about.

Methos didn't watch as Hank got in the car and drove away, it felt too much like desperation, but he didn't shrug off Kurt's three fingered hand from his shoulder, either.

"I could use a beer," Logan said suddenly and he jerked his head to indicate they join him. Methos followed, Kurt close on his heels.

...

Having decided that discretion was the better part of valour, Methos didn't venture off the grounds. In fact, he hardly left the mansion at all. After all, with grounds as large as the mansion's and considering the ease with which the mansion had been infiltrated several times, it meant more risk than he was willing to take.

Methos sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee to keep him awake. He hadn't slept much in the last few weeks, nightmares plaguing the few hours of sleep he did manage. They would fade in a couple of months. He knew that. The extreme clarity and intense emotions that accompanied them were already starting to do so. Something to be grateful for, he thought. He always had a slightly paranoid awareness of his surroundings, but the obsessive edge would eventually fade as well. He would be back to normal, for the most part, in a few months if he could avoid Ballard for that long. Unfortunately, he knew that his luck was never that good.

"You are good with children," Ororo said as settled in opposite him, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. Adam Pierson shrugged, uncomfortable at being startled at her arrival when he hadn't heard her. Death catalogued his weapons, from the kitchen knife in the small of his back to the hot coffee in his mug, and how quickly he could deploy them. Ororo smiled at him.

"I've had some practice," he replied, trying to draw himself away from his preoccupation with his nightmares, away from Death.

"Do you have children of your own?" she asked him, clearly trying to find out more about the man they'd invited into their midst. Methos wiped a hand down his face, before he looked back up at her with clear eyes.

"I can't have children, but I've looked after many," he told her. She smiled sadly at him.

"It is a pity. You would make a good father," she said.

Ben Adams smiled self-deprecatingly. He doubted that any child would grow up well-adjusted with him for a father. He had cared for many children with his wives, but had seldom been able to stay long enough to watch them grow up. At the first sign of someone noticing him not aging, he left. He'd been stoned and burned and beaten to death enough times to learn that lesson. Ororo watched him intently for a moment before she sighed.

"We are worried about you," she told him. Dr Adams raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever for?"

He wondered if Ororo had drawn the short straw about confronting him. Perhaps not. After all, Scott wasn't likely to have a civil conversation with him any time soon. Logan wasn't the kind to talk about feelings. He didn't trust Xavier and Xavier knew it. And Kurt knew too much about his time at Alkali Lake for Methos to be comfortable opening up to him. That left Ororo.

"It is not a weakness to have problems after what you experienced," she said, voice carefully modulated and soothing. Death rankled. He knew it did not mean he was weak. He had experienced enough in his many years to understand that. "You were in a situation for over a year where you had no control at all and you were made to do things against your will," she continued. "It is understandable that you would have trouble dealing with that."

Methos met her gaze straight on, his expression carefully neutral. Not even Kronos had exerted that much power over him and he was immune to the Voice. No one had ever been able to control him so completely, until Stryker. He had been utterly powerless for the majority of the time and that was likely to screw up anyone, even five thousand year old men. They didn't know all that had happened. Kurt might have an idea and Marie definitely seemed to know, but the rest had no clue.

Adam Pierson raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. Catching the telltale gesture, Dr Adams instead ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. Ororo rested a hand on his arm.

"We are all here for you if you need us," she told him. He nodded once, stiffly, as she stood and left.

Methos sat there for a long time, his thoughts running in useless circles. He finally growled impatiently and rose, intending to go to his room and attempt to get at least another hour of sleep.

He was halfway back to his room when the alarms sounded. Fear coiled, cold and jittery, in the pit of his stomach and he warred between hiding in his room and making sure nothing was going to harm the students. He wrapped a hand around the knife at his back and moved silently down the hallway, toward the noise. He had a strong suspicion it was whoever was behind the shapeshifter come to finish off what Stryker started.

When he arrived in the foyer, he saw Logan and Bobby staving off men dressed in army fatigues. The last time they'd been attacked, they hadn't been able to stop the attack, only hold them off long enough to get the remaining children to safety. Death shifted the grip on his knife and entered the fray. He was at an advantage, since the soldiers' guns were mostly useless in close quarters and Methos had thousands of years worth of experience.

"Sergeant," a mocking voice greeted Methos and Adam Pierson stilled instinctively and hunched, presenting a smaller target. His soldiers hadn't crossed him while he'd been under the influence of the serum, because while they had not respected a mutant, as they had seen him, they had respected his brilliance at tactical and strategic planning. Without the serum he'd been fair game. Death spun, knife held in a reverse grip, his eyes burning with cold fury.

"Peters," Death snarled at his once-subordinate. The man smirked at him, then lunged, dagger slashing dangerously close to Methos' chest. It was a stupid move, giving up the element of surprise by calling out to him, especially because Peters had never been particularly gifted at combat.

Deftly dodging Peters, he brought up his own blade and ducked inside Peters' guard. His knife sliced deeply into soft flesh and Peters' eyes widened as blood began to flow from a deep wound across his stomach.

Methos almost felt sorry for him. He'd been raised into prejudice and had followed the values that world had taught him. Methos, however, had seen many prejudiced societies in his time, had openly supported and upheld several, but he had also seen many people who had campaigned for change and had succeeded. Blind prejudice was no excuse.

Death had already forgotten Peters as he moved on to fight the next soldier in what appeared to be an infinite number of them. He caught sight of Logan savagely tearing into several soldiers at once and they grinned ferociously at each other. Bobby faltered and Methos slashed at the soldier who had tried to take advantage. Bobby nodded to him and they separated again.

Methos heard a different cry, pitched higher than those of the wounded men. He turned and saw, through the mass of people, several scared children. He viciously slaughtered the soldier in front of him before a deathly silence fell over the foyer, broken only by the soft whimpers of the children as they looked to their teachers and fellow student to save them.

Scott and Xavier came in the entrance behind them to stand with them as they faced the soldiers. General Ballard stepped forward, looking as impeccable as his photographs and completely unmarred by the gore around him. While his men looked impressed at the image he projected, Methos felt only disdain. All it showed was that he did not fight his own battles. Ballard looked them over, his eyes settling on Methos. Dr Ben Adams raised an indifferent eyebrow in response.

"We suggest an exchange," Ballard said, turning to Xavier and Scott. "The children for the Sergeant."

Xavier raised a hand to his forehead, then frowned and Methos realised the soldiers helmets were lined with something the blocked Xavier's ability.

"That's not an option," Scott told Ballard. Methos stared at Scott for a long moment, wondering just what he was thinking. He was nothing to them, an old enemy turned ally seeking sanctuary; not nearly as important to them as their students. The X-men all tensed in anticipation as Ballard stared at them in as much surprise as Methos was feeling.

"Very well," Ballard said, grabbing the first child, a girl of about thirteen. Death shifted his grip on the blade and launched himself forward, knocking Ballard away before he could even think of harming the girl. The soldiers and the X-men sprang into action at once and the children used the distraction to escape.

"You can't expect them to accept you when they find out about your past," Ballard said with a curious mixture of pity and disdain. Methos stepped forward until he was towering over the shorter man.

"They know about Stryker," Methos said. Ballard glanced around and saw that the soldiers were steadily retreating. He smirked at Methos as he took several steps back.

"Come and see," was all he said before he turned and ordered his men to retreat. They fled with the precision only military-trained troops possessed. The X-men forbore going after them to deal with the more important problem of dealing with the children who were undoubtedly scared and anxious about what had happened. It was, after all, the second time that they had been involved in a military strike in a short period of time.

Methos held himself together, jaw tightly clenched, as he walked away from the scene. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he felt shaky and weak. Somehow Ballard knew. Adam Pierson quailed inside at the thought of being the focus of such intense scrutiny. Ben Adams wanted to run and hide and never look back. Methos pulled Death to him. Death had no fear, felt no doubt. Death was strong and sure. Methos's mouth pulled into a slow smile. Death was inescapable.

Methos had no idea how he knew, but he knew, and only Cassandra and MacLeod could have told him, which meant several things. Either Cassandra had decided to get her revenge, MacLeod had betrayed him or either one or both of them had been tortured for the information. After that thought, Methos hurried at a pace just short of running to the large computer in the basement.

He quickly logged into the Watchers' Database, using Joe's details as he technically no longer had access. Scanning the information he found there he wasn't sure whether he ought to be relieved or even more worried. Cassandra was in a convent in France and MacLeod was doing a bit of travelling around Europe. Nothing indicated that they had been in contact with anyone connected to anything to do with Ballard. Which meant that Ballard had got the information from elsewhere which worried Methos immensely. There was no one else alive that knew.

If Ballard knew then he would also know about Immortals, which could and probably would be disastrous. Stryker had been surprised to find two people with healing abilities. Methos himself had been found completely by accident and had been promoted to Stryker's right hand man when it was found he was quite brilliant at planning. If Ballard knew that there was a whole race of Immortals out there he would stop at nothing until he had coerced them into working for him. Methos hoped that there was no longer any of the serum left and that the rest had been buried with the base, but he was not willing to delude himself that much.

Methos wasn't sure which worried him more, the fact that Ballard might want an Immortal army or that Ballard wanted him for something. Something that evidently had to do with what he had found out. Methos shuddered to think of what that might be.

Methos knew the passages concerned off by heart. '_When he opened the fourth seal, I heard the fourth living creature saying "Come and see!" And behold, a pale horse, and he who sat on it, his name was Death. Hades followed with him. Authority over one fourth of the earth, to kill with the sword, with famine, with death, and by the wild animals of the earth was given to him._' Somehow, Ballard knew of his past as Death.


End file.
